


Resignation

by Backtogiality



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV), The Queen's Gambit - Walter Tevis
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Beth is an asshole sometimes (but who can blame her), Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Townes, Canon Related, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Townes is hot af I’m sorry, what are you gonna do about it huh, yes I screamed when beth said she loved him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backtogiality/pseuds/Backtogiality
Summary: The first time Beth meets D.L. Townes, he captivates her. By the second, she finds herself becoming quickly enamoured with him. After the third, her entire world falls apart. Even so, he's determined to find his way back to her: whatever it takes. Beth battles her demons by herself, but she's never truly alone.Their story retold. Follows the original plotline of the show with a few tweaks and twists. (Features Beth/Beltik + Beth/Benny)
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts, Beth Harmon/D. L. Townes, Harry Beltik/Beth Harmon, Roger Dione/D. L. Townes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I should probably preface this fic by addressing a few things:  
> 1\. Townes, in this story, is bisexual. There's been much debate about his orientation and feelings for Beth, but I personally felt that they had the most chemistry in the show and wanted to explore their connection for what it might have been, were their circumstances different. However, I don't want to erase the existence of Roger or that there is most likely a relationship between the two men, so that's not going anywhere.  
> 2\. I'm definitely not a chess Grandmaster. I'll do my best to make the games as accurate as possible, but I can't promise anything!  
> 3\. I've never written a character like Beth before, but I'm going to try. Her addiction, genius and her self-destructive tendencies are new to me as a writer but I'm going to do my best to put them across in a believable way. Now that's cleared up, I hope you enjoy the story! Updates will hopefully be every few days to a week, and I'm expecting it to turn out at maybe 20-30k. Feedback is amazing if you have any!

  
  


_ 1963, Lexington, Kentucky _

Beth Harmon thrived on winning. With one move of her queen or her rook, she’d watch as her opponents’ expressions morphed from utter disbelief to reluctant admiration. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, assuring her that  _ yes, she was good at this, better than good _ , and each time she was reminded of Mr Schaibel’s stern face softening as he told her she was astounding.

_ Astounding _ . Whether her adversaries acknowledged it or not, whether they fervently shook her hand or dropped it like she’d burned them, Beth was astounding, and she was a winner. By no means was she bothered by the raised eyebrows or whispered insults dealt to her by some of the more incensed men, for she simply beat them and that was the end of it. It would be no different at the Kentucky State Championship, for which she’d written her old tutor, Mr Schaibel, in the hopes that he would supply her with the entry fee. He obliged, and there she was: standing awkwardly in the queue to sign up at the registration desk.

With a roll of her eyes, she told the two boys administrating the tournament to put her in the open with the rated players. “Are you sure you wanna do this? We don’t have a women’s section,” they told her, and she stormed into the gym with her head held high. A thrill ran through her as she scanned the room, decorated with numerous banners detailing what she assumed were accolades won by sports teams of previous years. Clouds of smoke billowed from cigarettes some of the players smoked seated at their boards, waiting for the games to begin.

Approaching the wall on which the matches were written, Beth felt her breath hitch in her throat. Thirty names altogether, and she’d have to win the majority of her games to take home first prize (her pride, of course, wouldn’t allow her anything less). She scanned the list for her name, frowning once she noted its position right at the bottom. 

There was somebody next to her, Beth realised, and she turned to ask them a question. By the time she met his eyes, she’d nearly forgotten what she wanted to say. He towered over her, although she’d never been considered short at her height of 5’6”, with a strong jaw and dark, neatly kept hair. What captured her interest the most, however, were his eyes. Unlike his contemporaries, whose condescension she’d grown to expect, the note of surprise in them exchanged itself for curiosity. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was faster.

“Are the matches played at random?” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. 

His brow furrowed, but there was a warmth in his voice that told her she hadn’t entirely embarrassed herself, “Oh, not at all. Uh, they arrange it by ratings on the first round.”

Beth nodded, and he continued, “After that, winners play winners, and losers, losers.”

There was a beat of silence during which she felt his gaze on her, assessing her as if she were an antique to be sold at an auction. She was sure her cheeks were on fire, but if he noticed, he didn’t comment. Beth turned abruptly and made for her first game, cringing at the stilted way she’d talked, when he spoke again. 

“Good luck,” was all he said, an eyebrow raised and a smile tugging at his lips. 

If everything went as she expected, she most likely wouldn’t need it. Out of courtesy more than anything, she wished him the same, her voice clipped.  _ Forget it _ , she told herself as she walked away,  _ You’ve got 100 dollars to win. _

Annette Packer, with whom Beth played her first game, was sweet enough. To begin with, Beth was certain she’d be another Margaret, the bully that had targeted her right from her first day at Fairfield High. Maybe she’d call her a - what was it Margaret had said? -  _ fucking brain _ , and she’d remark that considering the circumstances, having a working brain was rather useful. It had become a subconscious habit for Beth to check the feet of any girl she came across, searching for the familiar black-and-white shoes worn by at least a quarter of the student body (with contrasting laces, of course, because no self-respecting girl would be caught dead in brown shoes from Ben Snyder’s). Annette, as it turned out, was more than the pearls strung around her neck, for she explained to Beth the purpose of the clocks and notepad, even forewarning her about the touch-move rule. 

“Don’t you push your button, now?” Beth said, and they were off. 

As nice as Annette was, she wasn’t quite nice enough for Beth to show her any mercy. Just seventeen moves in, the other girl was forced to resign. Beth, eager to spite her critics, filled out her game slip and made it back to the registration desk before anybody else had even finished a game. Mr Schaibel would have told her she was gloating, but she couldn’t help the pride swelling within her at the bafflement on their faces.    
  
“Done already, Harmon?” one of them asked, subtly leaning over towards the basket to check the result - and then his watch. 

She saved him the trouble, saying matter-of-factly, “Yes. I won.”

She wasn’t the only player to finish quickly, for within a minute the man she’d spoken earlier to emerged from the gym. Curious to see if he’d won his match, she watched him from the stairs leading back into the tournament. Throwing his own slip into the basket, he looked back at her. Suddenly she became preoccupied with her messenger bag, fiddling with the leather buckles as if she were looking for something. He passed by her again with a small grin before returning to the fray. Beth left it a moment before she followed him.

At the back of the gymnasium was a section separated from the rest of the room, marked by a sign reading ‘top boards’ and by the smell of smoke extending from it. Elitism wasn’t exactly something Beth was familiar with, but she snuck around the partitions to join the crowd watching the current match. She tried telling herself that she slipped in between a boy she didn’t know and Townes (she’d deduced his name by studying the match board on her way in) because there was no space elsewhere. It was useless, and it was a lie. 

There was something charming about the way the men gathered around the board. When a blunder was made, a collective wince made its way across their faces. If a move was particularly exciting, they murmured to each other in approval. 

“Who are they?” Beth said, gesturing towards the current players. 

Townes shook his head good-naturedly at her, raising a finger to his lips, “Beltik and Cullen. Beltik’s the State Champion. He’s the younger one.” 

He didn’t seem like a State Champion, Beth thought, and immediately felt guilty for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t look like he could play chess: with his combover and plain sweater he fit in with every player in the room except for her. No, it was the way Beltik moved his pieces indecisively, like he couldn’t be sure his next move wouldn’t be his last, that puzzled her. A level of confidence was crucial when playing, and from what she could see of the game, he deserved it. Three more moves, and he’d win. 

“Is he a grandmaster?” asked Beth, watching as Beltik replaced Cullen’s knight with his own. 

“He’s working on it. You have to play Grandmasters to become one. Takes time, and a hell of a lot of practice,” Townes said with a shrug. His eyes never left the board. 

Beth hummed. She could practice. “How much time?”

Even as she said it, she knew her voice was too loud. Beltik seemed to feel the same, because he turned in his chair and said, “Do you mind?”

Actually, she did - she hadn’t finished with her questions - but she wasn’t about to tell him that, so she stayed quiet. The minutes that followed were wrought with tension, which reached its climax when Cullen offered a draw, fixing Beltik with a glare.

A moment of silence passed. Beltik studied the board, gathered his wits and shook his head. “Hell no,” he said defiantly, folding his arms. 

_ Rook to a4. Cullen sacrificed his king. It was over.  _

The crowd dispersed, and after eyeing the game, so did Beth. Four games and four wins later, she returned home with renewed determination. Alma, from her usual position in front of the television, gave her a half-hearted congratulations and told her that dinner was in the oven. Chess couldn’t hold a candle to an invite to the Apple Pi’s in her eyes, but Beth hoped that once she won, Alma’s view would change. It had to change, because chess was the one thing she was truly good at, that she cared about more than anything - if that didn’t earn her a mother’s love, she didn’t know what would.

If she was tired enough, nights in the Wheatleys’ home morphed into nights she’d spent at the orphanage, shivering in bed and unable to sleep. Perhaps, a few months ago, she might have snuck into the basement to use Mr Schaibel’s chessboard (even though he always somehow knew when it had been used, and berated her for it each time). Beth could almost hear Jolene’s loud breathing in the bed next to her. The younger version of herself might have woken her, asked what she thought of the world. Having received a cynical answer she couldn’t rebuke, she’d probably have turned over and waited for sleep to claim her. 

A constant amongst the tsunami of change that had flooded her life were the pills. Part of Beth believed it was fate when she’d seen them on the counter in the corner shop. It had seemed almost wrong not to take one when they cleared her mind so. Much further back there was another part that remembered the withdrawal, the headaches and the restlessness after they’d been banned at the orphanage, but she’d pushed down her trepidation and started collecting them again. Yes, those little green pills were her friend. As of now, she needed all the friends she could get.

Beth popped one into her mouth and marvelled at her own genius, laid bare on the ceiling in sixty-four squares.

***

She couldn’t decide if it was excitement or dread that made her stomach drop when she saw her name positioned next to Townes’. Underrated he may be, but Beth was confident she’d win their match, even if he did come fifth in Las Vegas last month. What was the saying?  _ What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas _ . And so, she figured, could his success.

With her jaw set and eyes hardened, Beth approached their board, faltering slightly when she met his gaze. She was the first to break the contact, shoving her bag onto the floor with a loud ‘thud’.

“Looks like we’ve been stalking each other,” Townes said, his glinting eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her dispose of her gum. She said nothing. The silence that followed prompted him to speak again, “Do you...want to start my clock?”

_ Shit.  _

She sighed, “Oh. Sorry.”

Throughout the few games she’d played during the tournament, Beth had come to like the chess clock. Its steady ticking grounded her, warning her of the consequences of playing too aggressively. When it came to her game with Townes, however, she wanted to throw it at the wall. He was deliberate and precise with his moves: a worthy opponent, which was the highest praise she could give him considering the ease with which she’d won her prior matches.

Resting her chin on her hands, she moved her king forward, her eyes flitting up to meet his stare. Townes shook his head incredulously, lacing his fingers together. He moved his rook up to h5, but it was no use. Beth followed him with her king.

“Jesus Christ, Harmon, you’re humiliating my rook,” he said.

Beth’s lips quirked up at the corners, “He won’t have to suffer for much longer.”

Within a few moves, she’d win, and she would be satisfied. Winning was what she’d come for, after all, was what she craved. But sitting across from Townes was different. For the very first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to win.

As Beth predicted, a checkmate was soon achieved. Townes let out a low whistle, circling her name on the game slip and extending his hand to her. It was warm, and his grip firm. Beth retracted her hand, bringing her fingers to her lips. 

“Damn...how old are you?” Townes asked, but stopped her before she could reply, “Actually, don’t answer that. You’ll only depress me.”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m thirty-six.”

He chuckled as he got up from his chair, “You really are something, you know that?”

Beth grinned at him, but a sharp pain in her abdomen wiped the expression off of her face. She declined his offer to hand in their slips together, claiming she wanted to study the board a little more. As soon as he was gone she rushed to the bathroom, gasping in alarm at the blood trickling down her leg. An encounter with Annette saved her for the time being, but before long she was running back into the gymnasium to play her next matches.

“You can’t beat either of them,” Mike had told her, speaking of Sizemore and Goldman, her next rivals. Beth failed to see what was so special about either when the former was too cocky to even pay attention to their game and the latter was weak on the defensive. Soon enough, she was ready to challenge Beltik for the title.

Or, at least, Beth was ready to play Beltik, but he didn’t even have the respect for her to show up on time. Instead he strolled into the room and claimed he’d needed one more coffee, as if that justified his rudeness. “Harry Beltik. What’s your name?” he said, shaking her hand.

She dropped it as soon as possible, “Beth Harmon.”

His nonchalance only fueled her irritation. As Beltik sat down, leaning back leisurely in his chair as if he had not a single care in the world, Beth felt her world flash white. Here he was, humiliaating her in front of all these people, and it was like being back in that car again, going sixty miles an hour down the country road, and there was a car hurtling towards them and her mother was mumbling to herself, saying, “Close your eyes, Beth,” and-

Beth opened her eyes. Though she didn’t dare look at the crowd, she could feel the scrutiny of their eyes on her, their quiet assurance that Beltik would win. She’d show them. And she did, though it took a trip to the bathroom and one of Alma’s tranquilising pills to do so. Reflected in the mirror was her map to success, and she followed it dutifully until even Beltik couldn’t deny her superiority. He certainly wasn’t yawning anymore. His long-abandoned cup of coffee lay cold on the floor.

Beth moved her bishop, and he was done.

“Son of a bitch-”

“You know, I think that’s it.”

Beltik shook his head, “No, I can get out of this. I can.”

She wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: himself or her. Beth sighed, glancing at the clock, “Maybe, if you’d gotten here on time.”

Rook. King. Bishop. Checkmate. Beltik’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Do you see it now?” she asked, “Or shall we finish this on the board?”

He shook her hand again, and Beth pretended not to notice the way it trembled.

***

Townes approached her after the match, placing a hand on her shoulder, “You played well, kid. Beltik’s had the title for three years - it’s about time somebody took his place.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, “You did well, too. Do you play in many tournaments?”

He shook his head, “Only the ones the university tells me to. I think I’ll stick to reporting on chess, in future. As for you, I think we’ll see each other around. Something tells me you’ll be playing for a while yet.”

“I hope so.”

With one last grin, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd of chattering spectators and disappointed players of whom Beth was not one. She ran home with her head in the clouds, desperate to tell Alma of her success. The response she got was much more promising this time around.

“Elizabeth Harmon showed a mastery of the game unequalled by any female, according to Harry Beltik...and a hundred dollars, too,” a beaming Alma said the next morning, putting the paper down and picking up Beth’s check.

“Will you help me set up a bank account?” asked Beth. She was relieved when Alma nodded, and reached across the table to grasp her hand. Relief gave way to shock that same afternoon when Alma called her into the living room to propose they attend another tournament. 

“I’ve calculated it all...the tickets, the hotel room, the food - even if you only win second or third prize, there’ll still be a profit,” she was saying, but Beth was barely listening, her eyes glazed over at the thought of entering (and winning) another competition. Her deviant mind wondered if Townes would be in Cinncinati, reporting or otherwise, and if she’d have the opportunity to play him again. 

“Beth?” Alma said again, and she snapped out of her daze.

“I’ll win,” she said with a decisive nod, and her mother smiled.

“I have every confidence.”

Beth didn’t know it yet, but the course of her life had been irrevocably changed in two ways. Just as in chess, there was no going back, for better or for worse.


	2. Chapter 2

_ 1963, Cincinnati _

“This will do nicely. Very nicely, don’t you think, dear?” Alma said of their room at the Gibson Hotel, inspecting the television in the corner and the black-and-white bedspreads. Fitting for a chess tournament, Beth supposed.

She didn’t answer her mother, throwing herself onto the bed with a fervour that made both of them shriek with laughter. The old Beth would have rejoiced at the sound, for laughter was a currency that, with any luck, could buy her love. In chess it might be likened to the rook: powerful enough to break down obstacles in its way, sorely missed when it was gone. 

If her time with Alma had taught her anything, it was that she wasn’t the old Beth anymore. They were similar, both short-tempered and cautious, assessing every danger like a predator sizing up its rival - but they were not the same. No, the new and improved Beth tried her hardest not to treat causing her mother happiness as a gambit to corner her into adoration. Alma had offered up her queen, her heart, and asked for nothing in return. With time, that sharp and temporary increase in her self worth had faded into the soft warmth she felt now, radiating from her chest and spreading through her entire body. This was what love was supposed to be, she realised, and the thought made the hairs on her neck stand on end. 

Beth tried lingering around the hotel room with her mother, but it wasn’t long until she grew restless and excused herself to explore the place before her first game. By ‘explore the place’, she’d meant ‘size up her opponents’, but she knew Alma would lecture her about enjoying her downtime and neglected to mention it. Fairfield High’s gymnasium was nothing compared to the sophisticated grandeur of the Gibson Hotel. She wove between embellished pillars and elaborate floral arrangements until she reached the sign-up desk, smoothing down her dress.

For once, the welcome she received was warm. “I’m Beth,” she told the administrator, frowning as he smiled at her and reached out to shake her hand. 

“Harmon? The Kentucky State Champion? You played quite the tournament last month, we were astonished when we heard you took out Beltik. A pleasure,” he said. She wrote her name down onto the sign-up sheet, pretending she wasn’t disappointed that Townes’ name wasn’t there, and he proceeded to explain the time controls and let her go. Beth ran upstairs with the distinct feeling that she was welcome somewhere, for once. 

It didn’t last very long. A man in a cowboy hat, of all things, had shown her up. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that he was right (as much as she loathed to admit it) or by his calling her ‘little girl’ with a condescending hand on her shoulder. Biting the inside of her cheek, she swept past him and into the room which held the tournament, still nursing her wounded pride. Beth was somewhat placated by the curse her first opponent muttered after their introduction. That at least told her she’d built a reputation.

Her frustration didn’t fade entirely until she’d won her second match. After a short round of applause, the crowd began to disperse. To Beth’s surprise, Alma emerged, her pastel pink dress a sharp contrast to the sea of dark suits surrounding her. 

“It’s so much more exciting than I imagined,” she said, and Beth couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face.

“Did you watch the whole game?”

Alma nodded, “Of course. You were brilliant, truly. It would be a crime against humanity if you didn’t win.”

Beth was about to reply when she was tapped on the shoulder. She wheeled around to see Matt and Mike standing before her, grinning with their hands in their pockets. “God, Beth, I thought you were done when he brought out his rook, then took your pawn. I should’ve known better,” Matt said.

Beth raised an eyebrow, well aware of Alma’s eyes on her, “Yeah, you should’ve. What are you guys doing here, anyway? Are you playing?”

“Losing, mostly. We’ve been playing alternate for the University team. Stops us from coming up against you, anyway. I’ll count my blessings.”

Privately, she agreed, but she wouldn’t tell them that. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes was difficult when Alma nudged her, “Beth, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Nodding, Beth linked their arms together, still glowing with the knowledge that she’d been supported the entire time she played. “Matt, Mike, this is my mom. Mom, Matt and Mike helped at the Kentucky championship last month.”

“A pleasure,” Alma said, and Beth didn’t like the devious glint in her eyes, “Well, I don’t know about you young people but I’m famished.”

This time, Beth really did roll her eyes. It was lucky that Matt and Mike didn’t clock her mother’s awful attempt at matchmaking. “There’s a restaurant in the lobby. We’ll show you there,” said Mike. They turned and left the room, Alma and Beth following them arm in arm.

“I can’t decide which one is more handsome.”

Beth decided not to comment. They ate quickly, with Alma throwing a fusillade of questions about tournaments at Matt and Mike, who were happy to answer. “Beth’d probably win the US Open,” Mike told her, “And with that comes playing in Europe.”

“Really? What’s the prize money like over there?” 

“Better than in the States.” Alma was no mathematician, but Beth could see the gears turning inside her head. Had her circumstances been different, she might have made a brilliant businesswoman.

“I’ve got this tournament to win first,” said Beth. 

Matt snorted, “Don’t be so modest, Harmon. There’s no way you’ll lose.”

Rudolph was a Grandmaster. For a moment as they’d shaken hands and taken their seats, Beth saw stars. It took years to become a master, Townes had said. You had to play them, too: she wished he could see her now. Play him she did, and despite a potentially lethal endgame in which she was left with a rook, a knight, and three pawns, nothing could prevent her from victory.

“That’s check,” Matt explained to her mother. Beth could hear the incredulous smile in his voice and had to bite her lip to prevent one of her own. Agonisingly slowly she slid her rook across the board to meet Rudolph’s king.

“And that’s mate.”

The room erupted into applause.

After their celebratory dinner, Alma, her face flushed with pride, approached Beth to ask for ten percent of her winnings. An agent’s commission, she called it. The corners of her lips turned upwards in a hopeful smile, she had never appeared more at ease. 

Beth took one look at her mother and suggested fifteen percent instead. 

***

_ Las Vegas, 1966 _

Three years, a string of wins and thousands of dollars later, Beth strolled into the lobby of the Mariposa Hotel, shopping bag in hand. Glancing at the giant dice that was the centerpiece of the room, she wondered if the whole of Vegas was such a spectacle. There was a level of charm to its tackiness - and it really was tacky, she realised as she passed a sculpture of a golden palm tree - that Beth could appreciate, despite her love of glamour. 

‘US Open this way!’ flashed a neon sign. She followed its directions upstairs, past the numerous chess boards being set up and out onto the mezzanine balcony, watching as well-dressed guests sauntered into the hotel. Half of the men were probably here to play chess, and the other half to cheat on their wives. Cynicism wasn’t a mindset Beth generally found worthwhile, but she’d noticed one man take off his wedding ring as soon as he got through the door.

“Harmon!” a voice called. It sent a jolt through her, enough to pull her from her thoughts.

Beth knew that voice. Warm, smooth, almost aristocratic. It was the voice that had told her she was really something, the voice she’d imagined advising her during particularly tricky matches.  _ Don't settle for a draw, Beth. You're better than that. No, Beth, if you move your pawn there, he'll take it with his knight.  _

Before she even turned around, she knew it was him, “Townes?” 

He looked no different than the last time she’d seen him, and regrettably, as handsome as ever. Dressed more casually in a dark sweater and slacks, he cut a fine figure. Beth hoped he didn’t notice her face flushing, or how she smoothed down her dress with her sweating hands.

“It is you. My stars, you look…wow," he said, grinning and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

It wasn't possible to hear a heartbeat accelerate from meters away, was it?  _ No, of course not,  _ Beth told herself, and thanked a metaphorical God for small mercies. She gave a twirl, her skirt twirling with her, and began walking, "Thanks. It's the hair, isn't it? It was awful, before."

Truthfully, it probably was the hair. She’d been growing it out of the awful style the orphanage had forced her to keep it in, with the manageable bangs and cheekbone-length cut. Now, it fell almost to her chin in elegant waves (a fashionable and appropriate look for a young lady, Alma had told her whilst showing her how to use the rollers).

"I couldn't possibly say," Townes said jokingly. His strides eclipsed hers as he caught up with her, "You know, I thought we might bump into each other when I saw your name on the tournament list."

"I didn't see yours."

"I'm not playing.  _ Chess Review _ sent me to write it up. Must confess, I was hoping to see you here last year."

Beth tried her best not to fixate on her last part and scrambled to come up with an answer, "I was supposed to. I even paid the fee, but my mother got sick. And I didn't want to come alone."

"She all right?"

"Fine. I should have come on my own, but I told myself the Open wasn't as important as the US Championships," she said with a shrug, watching as he darted around a pillar to move closer to her. 

"Oh, no. No, it's not. But I'm sure glad you came. Wouldn't be the same without you."

Beth almost didn’t look at the smile he sent her, because she was sure it would do nothing good for her racing heart. 

_ Deflect, deflect, deflect. _ "It's probably a good idea for me to play in something other than the events I pick for the money."

Townes gave her a once over, gesturing towards her dress (a chequered black and white material, chosen with irony in mind), "Looks like you're making a lot."

"Yeah, I guess so." 

That was the understatement of the century. 

They reached the other end of the room where another neon sign - seriously, what was it with Vegas and neon? - depicted a stylized chessboard. Townes hummed in response, "Still, you could become a world-class player, a real pro. I don’t think American chess has seen a talent like you in a good few years."

"Well, I started taking Russian classes at night."

"Oh, that's smart."

"Don't wanna plateau."

"No. Plateaus are the worst. And you're far too old to be called a prodigy anymore…” Being so used to the criticisms of her competitors, Beth's head snapped up at the comment. To  her surprise, the familiar spark of irritation that usually followed never arrived. She felt rather stupid when she realised he wasn't being serious, the corners of his lips quirking upwards in a teasing smile. She also cursed herself for the way she automatically returned it. 

Turning to study her face again, Townes continued, “What do you say we get a coffee? They serve them at the restaurant.” 

Beth hated coffee, but she far from hated Townes, “Why not? I could use a break from studying.”

If only Alma could see her now.

***

“Where did you even learn to play? You must’ve had one hell of a teacher,” he asked her, leaning forward in his chair. They’d chosen a booth in the corner of the restaurant, which was decorated with the same extravagance as the rest of the hotel. Beth had to laugh at the ridiculous centrepiece sitting on the table as they approached. Moving it had been a necessary evil, because it was so large it completely blocked their views of each other.

Their earlier conversation was dominated by the usual topics: school, work, the weather. But as the awkwardness in their dynamic began to fade, the discussion inevitably turned towards chess.

“Before Mom adopted me, I used to live at Methuen. It’s an orphanage for girls. I hated the lessons there. They were so boring I took any chance I could get to leave, and snuck down to the basement. The janitor had a chessboard set up down there. He taught me,” she said simply, having told the story many times before.

Considering that the magazines rarely included what she asked them to, Beth was unfazed by the expression of mild surprise on Townes’ face. He could never be completely shocked, she’d noticed. Not when he’d noticed she was a girl playing chess, and not when he found out it was a janitor that taught her. She supposed it was hard to have your preconceived notions shattered if you never made them in the first place, but she couldn’t help wondering what made him so immune.

“Damn...was he a master?” said Townes, taking a sip of his coffee. Mirroring his actions, Beth did her best not to wince at the bitter taste. It was an adult’s drink, she decided, and the last thing she wanted Townes to think of her was that she was childish. 

She thought for a moment, hating the way she had to strain to remember some of those long afternoons spent in the dingy basement with her teacher. “Mr Schaibel used to say there were no masters in chess. You either loved it, or you didn’t. You knew the game well, or you didn’t. He didn’t think much of the masters.”

“And do you agree?”

Beth shook her head, “No. Really, I think I just liked the idea of being a master. I didn’t want to just be good at chess. I wanted to be remarkable at something, to be the best at it.”

“You  _ are _ remarkable, Harmon. You don’t need me to tell you, but you are.”

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze to the cup in her hands. It was dangerous, she knew, for her to be talking to him like this, but she didn’t want to stop. 

“I mean it. I’ve spoken to some of the other players already. I ask each one if there’s someone they’re worried about. Your name comes up every single time.”

“I don’t see a point in fearing another player. There’s only one that scares me.” As she said it, she knew it was true. Benny Watts - the cowboy-hat-wearing man who she’d met years ago in Cincinnati - happened to be playing in the US Championship, and he had a track record of excellence. In the many months since she’d stolen that first edition of  _ Chess Review _ , she’d seen his name praised in articles time after time. But did he scare her? Hardly.

“Easy for you to say. Who is it?” Townes laced his fingers together, the curious glint in his eyes returning. He looked every bit the scholarly journalist, Beth thought.

“Borgov. The Russian,” she said after a moment’s silence. 

“Does he even count? I don’t think there’s anyone out there that isn’t afraid of him.”

Borgov’s image, one printed in  _ Chess Review _ the previous week, flashed before her. Those callous eyes sought out their prey like a shark out for blood. Beth sighed, “It’s not his reputation that scares me. It’s the way he plays - he’s like a machine. He barely has to think about his next move, he decided it six moves ago. And it goes exactly the way he planned, always. He’s never caught out.” 

“Every machine breaks down eventually. And I’ll bet you’ll be the one to manage it.” There was another pause, during which Townes studied her face, “You know, readers would love to hear what you have to say. I should do something on you for the magazine.”

"I was on the cover last month," she said.

Townes laughed at her bluntness, "Of course. I must have got it mixed up with the one in  _ Life _ magazine...I also work for the  _ Herald-Leader _ ."

"In Lexington?”

The thought of being featured in her hometown’s newspaper, the one that detailed her first successes in Chess, was a pleasant one. And if the article were written by Townes, she wouldn’t be able to resist. 

"The very same. I could do a half-page on you for Sunday's paper. Won't be as big a deal as Life, of course, but-"

"Yeah. Sure," Beth said quickly. Realising how eager she sounded, she added, "If you want to."

Their eyes met, and Beth’s breath hitched in her throat. “I’ve got a camera in my room. Chess boards, too. We could play,” he said. Underneath his facade of nonchalance, she thought she detected a hint of apprehension. This wasn’t a business deal, then. It was an invitation. Of what sort she didn’t know, but she was more than willing to find out. 

She reached up to brush a stray piece of hair away from her face, “Let’s go up.”

Townes grinned, and led the way. Beth followed. Though she didn’t yet know it, it was a pattern that would continue for years, mentally and physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter. I started deviating from the show a little (not a massive fan of the scene at the end, but I can always edit it later lol). I also felt it necessary to show the developing relationship between Beth and Alma, because it's such a quintessential part of the show. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I'll see you in a few days for the next instalment! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, just wanted to make clear that Beth is 15 in this first chapter and that Townes is not a creep. He's not interested in her, just in her abilities at this point. I can't say the same for Beth though.
> 
> I also used a lot of the dialogue from the show and tried to combine it with Beth's inner monologue. In the future, much of the speech will be original and will expand on what the show depicts, but it didn't make much sense to me to rewrite the dialogue for the chess games lmao


End file.
